


should just stop thinking

by ninepointeight



Category: Men's Basketball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Slice of Life, Threesome - M/M/M, i think i just created two new relationship tags at once, make that three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-23 18:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninepointeight/pseuds/ninepointeight
Summary: In which Kyrie finds himself stuck between Kevin, his best friend (with benefits), and Lebron, his ex who is seeking to rekindle their relationship.
Relationships: Kevin Durant/Kyrie Irving, Kevin Durant/LeBron James, Kyrie Irving/LeBron James, LeBron James/Kyrie Irving/Kevin Durant, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hii so i just want to make it clear upfront that this is purely a work of fiction. a work of fiction which i am probably going to hell for writing. it's completely self-indulgent but i hope someone out there likes the story! 
> 
> p.s. i know i use this setting too often, but just pretend they're at all-star week or something similar

The sound of clothes rustling and spit being exchanged is loud in the otherwise silent locker room.

Kevin and Kyrie’s lips separate filthily, a thin string of saliva hanging between their mouths as they pull away from each other.

Kevin spins Kyrie around quickly and shoves him up against the wall; Kyrie groans, hands bracing against the surface automatically and his back arching in anticipation.

“Yeah, you want this dick, huh?” Kevin groans, grinding his hips forward against Kyrie’s backside. Kevin’s hands grip hotly at his waist, moving down to pull his shorts and underwear halfway down his legs.

“Shit,” Kevin says, fingers brushing over Kyrie’s hole, making Kyrie whimper. “Already so fucking wet.”

Kyrie’s knees grow weak when Kevin pushes two long fingers into him without warning. He turns his head slightly to the side to look at him. “Kev, hurry the hell up,” he breathes, eyes glazing over. “We don’t have much time.”

Kevin smirks, leaning forward to speak into Kyrie’s ear. “What, scared that someone will come looking for us?” He says teasingly, voice low, and Kyrie shivers at the thought of being discovered like this. He feels Kevin’s chest rumble against his back when he chuckles. “You just tightened around my fingers, you know that?”

Kyrie whines as Kevin continues scissoring inside of him liberally. It feels good— but it isn’t enough. “Kev, come on,” he says again, leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the wall. “Want you in me.”

It’s a relief when Kevin finally removes his fingers, and Kyrie feels something hot and hard press against his entrance a second later. Kevin must also realize that they actually don’t have that much time to waste, because he doesn’t tease Kyrie any further and gets right to it.

They both groan low in their throats when Kevin pushes forward, cockhead nudging past Kyrie’s rim slowly. It’s a salve and a new kind of itch all at once, as Kyrie’s shameful desire to be pounded into and monopolized grows even stronger with each passing second.

Kevin pauses when he’s all the way in, and Kyrie whines embarrassingly high, knuckles whitening as he clenches his fists. “Kevin, move!”

“Fuck,” Kevin breathes, fingers digging into the narrow of Kyrie’s waist forcefully. “Always so fucking tight, Ky. Imma tear your little ass up, you ready?”

Kyrie’s ears grow warm at the dirty talk. “I’m ready,” he replies breathily, and repeats, “now hurry up.”

No more words are exchanged before Kevin starts to move in earnest, thrusts long and forceful. His hips slam into Kyrie’s backside with each emphatic drive forward, forcing a series of small noises from the back of Kyrie’s throat.

“Ah, ah, _ahh_ ,” Kyrie whimpers as Kevin’s cock repeatedly plunges into him. Kevin is thrusting relentlessly, primarily chasing his own release as opposed to being concerned with Kyrie’s pleasure. That doesn’t stop it from feeling good, however.

But that is pretty much the essence of their sexual relationship— they had established upfront when they first started doing this that they are purely friends with benefits, nothing less and nothing more. Kevin made it adamantly clear that he wasn’t looking for commitment, or a relationship.

Kyrie had agreed easily at the time, but his growing feelings for Kevin are a different matter entirely.

He grits his teeth, not wanting to think about such a heavy topic at a time like this. He lets himself get lost in the pleasure of the moment instead, closing his eyes. “Oh, fuck,” Kyrie gasps, fingers grasping at the linoleum, when Kevin hits a particular spot deep inside of him that sends bolts of electricity racing up his spine.

“Yes, _yes_ , Kev, that’s so good,” he cries out, “I want you deeper, hnn, please!”

Kevin’s grip on his waist tightens almost painfully. “Shit,” he grits out right next to Kyrie’ ear. “You love this, yeah? Love my cock so much you’re drooling for it.” One of his hands comes up to cup Kyrie’s chin, and he shoves two fingers haphazardly into Kyrie’s mouth.

“Mmh,” Kyrie moans around Kevin’s fingers, spit dribbling messily from the corners of his lips. “I luh it s’much,” he slurs.

Kevin grunts, the movement of his hips speeding up even further, driving Kyrie’s smaller body roughly into the wall in front of him. It hurts, and is vaguely humiliating, but it also makes Kyrie’s body sing with pleasure at the same time, so much so that he’s shaking with it.

“Ahh, I’m g-getting, nh, close,” he groans out in between Kevin’s sharp thrusts.

Kevin reaches forward with the hand that was on his waist to lavish some attention on Kyrie’s dick. He jolts at the initial touch, but quickly melts into it as Kevin begins jerking him off in quick, concise movements.

Kyrie comes first like that, sandwiched between Kevin’s arms and trembling minutely. Kevin finishes not far behind him, pulling out at the last second and coming all over Kyrie’s lower back and ass.

They pause for a few moments, both coming down from the high of their respective orgasms. Kyrie breathes heavily, trying to return some clarity to his mind, when he feels Kevin gently press his forehead against the back of his neck. Kevin’s breath is hot and vaguely ticklish against Kyrie’s nape.

It’s a rare and wordless gesture of tenderness; Kyrie’s heart immediately speeds up in his chest. Like this, it almost feels like they might be… lovers, or something.

The illusion is immediately broken a short second later, however. Kevin pulls back and steps away, the cold air that suddenly hits Kyrie’s back making him shiver.

“Nice,” Kevin says, and Kyrie turns around slowly to find him tucking himself back into his pants.

Kevin looks back up at him and jabs a thumb in the direction of the door. “I’ll wait for you outside, while you, uh,” he gestures vaguely at Kyrie. “Clean up.”

“Right,” Kyrie replies dumbly, watching as Kevin stuffs his hands into his pockets and leaves without so much as a backwards glance.

He stands there, completely still for a couple moments even after the door swing shuts behind Kevin. He doesn’t know why he still gets disappointed at this point. It’s always like this with Kevin— he’s usually a great friend, attentive and sweet and caring. But as soon as sex is added to the mix, it’s like he becomes a completely different person.

Kyrie sighs to himself and shuffles over to the locker room sink. He cleans himself up, washes his hands, and pulls his shorts back up in place. His skin is still hot to touch from the adrenaline and sex, but his insides feel strangely cold.

Kevin is leaning against the opposite wall when Kyrie pushes the door open. He looks up from his phone at the noise, slipping it into his pocket and straightening up. “Hey,” Kyrie says, forcing himself to smile weakly and tilting his head in the direction of the arena. “Let’s go.”

They walk in silence for a bit, a million and one thoughts swirling around Kyrie’s head, when Kevin looks over in his direction and smirks.

“You’re limping a little,” he says with an undertone of smugness, snapping Kyrie out of his own head.

“Huh?” Kyrie looks up, and then blushes when Kevin’s words fully register. “O-oh. Yeah, I guess I am,” he stutters.

Kevin’s smirk deepens as they near the end of the hallway, where the lights from the gym flood slightly into the corridor. The sound of fans, cameras, and basketballs thumping against the floorboards gets louder as they continue walking. Right before they leave the privacy of the dark passageway, Kevin leans down close to Kyrie’s ear.

“Good,” Kevin says quietly, one large hand squeezing Kyrie’s ass and making him gasp. “You’re gonna be feeling me out there on the court tonight, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he pulls away with a self-satisfied smile, and leaves Kyrie standing there once again, shocked and somewhat turned on.

Goddammit, if only Kevin would stop doing things like that— things that make Kyrie’s heart pound faster underneath his ribcage and his omega preen from the attention.

Kyrie lets himself stew in the moment for a little bit, and then quickly shakes himself out of it. He presses the backs of his hands against his cheeks, making sure that they aren’t burning hot anymore before he takes a deep breath and also steps out of the tunnel.

He walks through a flurry of noise and action, high-fiving a line-up of overeager fans. Cameras flash in his face as he makes his way to the court, which he tries his best to ignore.

Kyrie walks along the baseline slowly, looking for people he knows. The first person that he ends up running into is Stephen, which is both a blessing and a curse at once.

They dap each other up, and Stephen eyes him curiously. “I was just starting to wonder why you and Kevin were taking so long,” Stephen says. “Y’all weren’t having a pre-game quickie in the locker room, were you?” He jokes. 

Kyrie’s eyes widen, and he coughs. “Of course not!” He replies, trying for an unaffected expression. “Like we would ever do something like that…” He trails off.

Stephen stares at him intensely for a second, making a cold sweat break out on the back of Kyrie’s neck, but he eventually smiles. “Yeah, you’re right,” Stephen says, “that sounds more like something Klay and I would do, to be honest.”

He’s about to continue when somebody calls for him in the distance, and Stephen turns his head at the sound of his name. “Oh, shit, it’s time for my interview,” he looks back to Kyrie apologetically. “Sorry, Ky, I’ll catch you later!”

With that, Stephen takes off towards the main entrance of the gym.

“Okay, bye…” Kyrie says to the empty spot in front of him that used to be Stephen. He sighs, and continues meandering around the court.

The next person he promptly runs into is Lebron— which is clearly a curse and a curse alone. They aren’t on bad terms anymore, but it’s always awkward to run into your ex. Especially at a work event.

“Oh, hey, Lebron,” Kyrie greets awkwardly. Lebron looks equally as discomfited to see him, but he recovers quickly and holds out a hand.

They do their old handshake out of habit, which Kyrie had forgotten ends in an oddly intimate hug until he’s already wrapped up in it. His face heats up a little when he feels the tip of Lebron’s nose inadvertently graze against his throat, not far from his scent glands.

He’s still appreciating the sheer warmth of the embrace when Lebron suddenly pulls away from him, abrupt, head snapping back almost violently. He stares down at Kyrie with wide eyes like he’s seen something shocking, and Kyrie tilts his head, confused.

He speaks up tentatively when Lebron doesn’t say anything and just continues looking at him, completely unmoving like a statue.

“Uh, Bron…?” Kyrie says, waving a hand in front of Lebron’s face, “what—”

“Somebody else fucked you.” Lebron says, cutting him off. His tone is almost astonished as he speaks, but it’s also forceful and flat, like he’s stating an undeniable fact. 

Kyrie blinks at him.

_Wait, what!?_ His eyes widen into saucers and Kyrie takes a reflexive step backwards, but Lebron’s hands on his shoulders keep him rooted in place.

“You, I, w–what,” Kyrie splutters incoherently, brain working in overdrive to make sense of the words. His face turns hot without his permission as Lebron just continues staring at him, gaze intense and probing.

“W-w-what the hell are you talking about, Bron?” Kyrie finally manages to stutter out after a couple failed attempts.

Lebron’s eyes flash dark. “I can smell it all over you, Ky,” he says, eyes narrowing as he grits out the next two words. _“Another alpha.”_

“Bron,” Kyrie says again, unsure how to continue. He’s still getting whiplash from how quickly a simple greeting took such a 180 like this. “I– think you’re mistaken about something, it’s—”

“I’m not,” Lebron cuts him off again, face creasing with annoyance. His hands slide slightly off Kyrie’s shoulders to hold him by his upper arms instead, and he pulls Kyrie closer. “Do you think _I_ of all people don’t know what you look like right after you just got fucked?” Lebron asks bluntly, which makes Kyrie flush even deeper.

He doesn’t wait for Kyrie to answer the rhetorical question and ducks his head down a little. When he speaks again, his voice is an entire pitch lower. “Who was it?”

Kyrie shivers. He’s always found Lebron’s voice to be one of the sexiest things about him, and their breakup clearly hasn’t changed that. “Who…who was what?” He asks back, faintly dazed.

Lebron’s grip tightens around Kyrie’s biceps almost painfully for a second. He breathes in deeply through his nose.

“Who fucked you just now, Ky?” He asks slowly.

Kyrie comes back to himself abruptly. —What kind of question even is that? Kyrie’s mouth opens and then closes again, partly from shock at the straightforward question and partly as he ponders how exactly to answer it, or if he should at all— when he is fortunately interrupted.

Or, in hindsight, rather _un_ fortunately. Because _Kevin_ is the one to walk up to them; Kyrie hadn’t even noticed him being nearby at all until he is already here.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Kevin asks, coming to a stop next to Kyrie. His eyes flit between the two of them, clearly taking in the way that Lebron is grabbing Kyrie’s arms and how they’re standing closer together than necessary.

_Shit._

A part of Kyrie wants to just say fuck it and run away without saying anything. The other, more rational part, however, knows that isn’t a long-term solution.

Kyrie takes a deep breath, and steps away from Lebron as naturally as possible, thanking the heavens when Lebron’s hands fall away easily this time. He smiles wanly up at Kevin. “W-we were just chatting,” he says.

Kevin looks at him, unconvinced. “Really? ‘Cause Lebron looked like he was getting a bit too close for comfort,” he says shamelessly right in front of Lebron, and Kyrie resists the urge to face-palm.

Kyrie sighs, unwilling to turn to see Lebron’s reaction to that. “Kev, how many times do we have to go over this?” He says, “I don’t understand why you think every alpha that I interact with is trying to hit on me.”

Even though Lebron kind of _was_......?? Actually, Kyrie still has no idea what the fuck that was.

“It’s not that I _think_ that,” Kevin replies, crossing his arms, “that’s just how it is. You’ve got to be more aware of your surroundings, Ky. Of course alphas are gonna see your sexy lil’ ass runnin’ around and try to shoot their shot.”

Kyrie blushes at the sudden compliment, uncouth though it may have been. “Shut up, K,” he huffs, but the corners of his lips quirk up on their own volition.

Kevin smirks at him, when Lebron suddenly clears his throat, pulling the center of attention to him for the first time since Kevin’s unceremonious arrival. His jaw is clenched tightly when Kyrie looks back at him, and Kyrie knows from both their time as teammates and romantic partners that this is Lebron’s ‘angry but trying not to show it’ face.

He’s looking between Kyrie and Kevin, brow furrowed, like he’s realized something incredibly upsetting, and Kyrie has a sinking feeling he knows what it is. Almost subconsciously, he takes a small step away from Kevin, as if that will somehow rescind Lebron’s epiphany.

Lebron’s eyes snap back to Kyrie at the movement, and he gulps. The atmosphere between the three of them is strange as they lapse into an odd, tense silence.

Kyrie can feel both Lebron and Kevin’s gazes burning into him and he adamantly doesn’t meet either of their eyes, instead stubbornly looking at nothing in particular. He is utterly at a loss for how to proceed, and for some reason neither of the two alphas seem inclined to take any action either.

They’re only saved when the overhead PA system in the gym crackles to life. “Ahem, attention everybody,” a voice blares from the speakers.

“The dunk contest will be starting shortly. Anybody not participating or involved, please move off the court and find a seat. I repeat, the dunk contest will be starting shortly.”

Kyrie blinks, spine sagging in relief at finally having an excuse to get the hell out of here. “Right,” he says, finally risking a glance upwards, only for the rest of his sentence to get stuck in his throat when he finds Lebron and Kevin looking at each other now.

Lebron’s face is serious, jaw still clenched, as Kevin narrows his eyes back at him. Kyrie swallows as he watches them. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to interrupt them.

After a few long, suffocating moments, Lebron finally looks away from the staring match. His gaze suddenly meet Kyrie’s instead, who freezes in place upon the intense emotion on his face.

What feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye later, Lebron turns away.

“I’ll see you around,” he says, and it’s not clear who he’s addressing. But before Kyrie can find that out, Lebron is already walking away without another word.

Kyrie ad Kevin both watch Lebron's retreating back as he leaves. Kevin blows out a loud breath, expression indecipherable. 

“What the hell was that all about?” He asks.

Kyrie can only shrug in response, feeling oddly restless and off-kilter. He grabs Kevin’s arm to steer him towards the courtside seats instead, trying to distract himself. That’s all he can do for the remainder of the event, and he has to make a conscious effort not to look over in Lebron’s direction every couple of minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoy!

Kyrie is among the last ones to finish up that night, and he breathes out a long sigh of relief after the final media panel ends. He makes his way down the tunnel slowly; the corridor is completely empty at this point, the other players having already left.

Well, _most_ of the other players. Kyrie sees a figure leaning against the wall as he nears the locker room, and he realizes with a jolt as he gets close enough that it’s Lebron lingering there.

Lebron looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps, immediately pushing off the wall when he sees Kyrie.

“Hey, Ky,” he says. Kyrie comes to a stop a few meters away from him. Lebron seems a bit nervous, but doesn’t look away as he continues speaking. “Uh, do you have a couple minutes?”

Kyrie blinks at him. “Sure,” he says after a moment, somewhat cautiously. “What’s up?”

Lebron takes a couple steps toward him, but there’s still a gap of space between them. “Look,” he starts, “there’s…no smooth way for me to really say this, so I’m just going to be blunt.”

Lebron pauses, taking a deep breath like he’s psyching himself up for something. The atmosphere suddenly grows serious, and Kyrie bites back a nervous swallow. “Kyrie,” Lebron says, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“I want you back.” Lebron announces, expression intent.

Kyrie stares up at him uncomprehendingly. Lebron seems to be holding his breath as he waits for a response.

“Wait,” Kyrie says. “ _What!_ _?_ ”

Lebron looks determined as he takes another step closer to Kyrie, who immediately takes a corresponding step back. Lebron frowns at that, but doesn’t let it deter him.

“I want you back,” he repeats earnestly. He’s gazing deeply into Kyrie’s eyes, and Kyrie wants to look away, flustered, but he can’t bring himself to for whatever reason.

“Seeing you with Kevin earlier made me realize…” Lebron continues, “I just can’t stand the thought of you being with someone else. I…I still love you, Ky.”

Kyrie’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. “Uh,” he stutters, too shocked still to even blush. Is he sure he’s not dreaming right now?

“Y-you have to realize,” Kyrie says after a second, “that this is completely out of left field, Bron.” His free arm lifts meaninglessly into the air, a nervous habit of his. “I mean— we haven’t been together in almost _four_ years, and, I just, well— I don’t know if this would be the best idea, you know.” He babbles, mouth moving faster than his brain.

However, Lebron doesn’t seem discouraged at all by Kyrie’s rambling rejection, instead moving even closer to him. Kyrie tries to back up again, only to bump into the wall behind him. He swallows, having to crane his neck further backwards to maintain eye contact. There’s nowhere left for him to go.

Kyrie can’t do anything as Lebron leans down close to him, one hand tightening around his and the other coming up to press against the wall next to Kyrie’s head.

Like this, he’s trapped, completely caged in by the bulk of Lebron’s body. Kyrie’s blood heats up inside his veins as he becomes increasingly aware of this fact.

“Look, I know we had a messy breakup,” Lebron says, low and coaxing. “But I’ve changed since then. _We’ve_ changed since then. We can make it work this time, I know it.” His eyes are gentle and sincere as he speaks.

He pauses to lift Kyrie’s hand slowly to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles, and Kyrie’s heart wavers dangerously.

As if he senses that Kyrie is hesitating, Lebron pushes on. “We can be so good together, Ky,” he says, voice somehow pleading and commanding at the same time. “You know I would treat you so well, yeah? We’ll learn from our past mistakes. Just give us another chance, sweetheart.”

Kyrie is tense the entire time Lebron is speaking, but he can’t help but melt a little at the familiar pet name. Lebron had probably called him ‘sweetheart’ more than his actual name back when they had been together. 

“Bron, I—” Kyrie starts to say, but stops abruptly at the sensation of Lebron’s hand landing on his waist, palm smoothing along the side of his body.

“Mm, what is it, sweetheart?” Lebron asks, breath hot against Kyrie’s skin and voice rumbling in his ear. Kyrie’s breath catches in his throat.

His eyes dip without permission to look at Lebron’s mouth, flitting back up guiltily a second later when he realizes what he’s doing. Lebron is already looking at him knowingly, his gaze pure liquid heat. He leans in a little, fingers curling suggestively around the fabric of Kyrie’s jacket.

“Bron,” Kyrie breathes, as they begin gravitating towards one another. Every fiber of his common sense is telling him that this is a terrible idea. “W-we shouldn’t be doing this…” he says, trailing off, but he’s already tipping his own chin upwards in anticipation.

Lebron chuckles low in his chest. “I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he murmurs, letting go of Kyrie’s hand so his left arm can also rest on the other side of Kyrie’s waist, pulling him closer.

There’s a faint ringing in Kyrie’s ears; he should stop this, but how can he? It’s always like this with Lebron.

Their mouths are mere centimeters apart when a nearby door suddenly swings open. The clanging and clicking are almost painfully loud in the otherwise silent hallway.

Lebron and Kyrie both jump back, startled, turning to look towards the source of the noise.

Kevin is walking out of the locker room by himself, busy adjusting the strap of his bag. He freezes when he looks up and sees Kyrie and Lebron staring at him like two deer caught in the headlights.

None of them move for several long moments, all three simply staring at each other in silence. It would almost be comical if it weren’t so insanely weird and awkward.

Kyrie watches Kevin’s eyes sweep over him and Lebron, cataloguing their position— namely, the way Lebron’s hands are wrapped around his waist, Kyrie’s hands resting lightly against Lebron’s chest, and how they’re leaning almost unconsciously into one another.

Kyrie’s eyes widen, panicked, and he immediately pushes Lebron away from him, who stumbles back a step in bewilderment. It’s a testament to how surprised Lebron is that he budges at all, or else Kyrie would never be able to move him.

Shit, how does Kyrie keep ending up in the middle of these situations? Shouldn’t that incident earlier in the gym have been enough for today? There’s a sense of déjà vu— but immensely fucking shittier.

“Am I interrupting something?” Kevin is the one to finally break the suffocating silence. His face is an unreadable mask, and Kyrie gulps.

Next to him, Lebron scowls vehemently. “Actually, yeah,” he says, crossing his arms. “We were just about to—”

“—head back to the hotel!” Kyrie cuts him off hurriedly just in time. Because for all the times Lebron is careful with his words, he can be alarmingly straightforward and lacking of a filter at others.

Lebron turns to blink down at him, mystified, and Kyrie lifts his eyebrows, trying to convey to him to shut up and be quiet.

Meanwhile, Kevin is looking between them, expression just as inscrutable as before. “You two are going back to the hotel _…together?”_

Kyrie reddens slightly at the implication, but huffs out an awkward laugh. “I meant, like, we were gonna split an Uber or something…”

He trails off as Kevin continues staring at them appraisingly. After a moment, Kevin seems to come to one conclusion or the other, and shrugs his shoulders. He wraps a hand around the strap of his bag.

“Well,” Kevin says, overly nonchalantly. “I was also just about to leave. Y’all don’t mind me copping a ride too, do you?”

Kyrie’s eye twitches. “Of course not,” he replies stiffly, even though being stuck inside an enclosed space like a car with the two of them sounds like legitimate nightmare fuel.

Lebron opens his mouth again. Kyrie has a pretty good idea the kind of rude or confrontational thing he’s about to say, so he jabs his elbow into Lebron’s side. Lebron looks at him incredulously, muttering something no doubt unsavory underneath his breath, but he eventually acquiesces.

“Fine, whatever,” he narrows his eyes at an unrepentant-looking Kevin.

Kyrie sighs, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as they all start towards the exit of the arena. It will never cease to amaze him how two strong, fully-grown alphas like them can act like such children sometimes.

He speeds up a little, walking ahead of them as he fishes his phone out of his pocket to call an Uber. Predictably, the brief wait for the car and the ride itself are all done in awkward silence, although at least Kyrie is able to claim the passenger seat before either of them do.

He keeps his eyes glued out the window the whole time, watching the scenery as it passes by. Lebron and Kevin are suspiciously silent in the backseat, the stalemate continuing all the way up until they arrive at the hotel gate.

“Um, have a nice evening,” the driver says when they come to a stop, looking just as uncomfortable as Kyrie feels.

“Thanks, you too,” Kyrie replies, smiling tightly. He makes sure he has all his belongings before exiting the car, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits for Kevin and Lebron to do the same and considers saying something to help dissuade the weird atmosphere as he watches the car pull away, but finds that he literally cannot think of a single thing to say right now.

He gives up and starts towards the hotel door, not checking to see if they follow him. The doorman looks shocked and star-struck as he pulls the door open and they file into the lobby, Lebron and Kevin sticking out easily with their tall builds. This makes Kyrie inexplicably annoyed.

The elevator ride is almost worse than the drive; especially since it’s late enough in the evening that there’s nobody else around. It’s also one of those elevators where all four panels are made of mirrors, meaning that Kyrie accidentally catches Lebron’s eye through the reflective surface, who is staring at him intently. He quickly looks away, but the heat swimming in the pit of his stomach far from dissipates. 

Lebron is staying on a lower floor than Kyrie and Kevin, so he gets off first. The doors slide open and Lebron takes half a step out, before turning back around to face them.

He looks at Kyrie and smiles.

“Good night, sweetheart,” Lebron says, deliberately.

Kyrie’s entire face turns hot this time, too flustered to reply anything other than, “G-good night, Bron.”

Kevin stays conspicuously silent beside him while Lebron turns and walks out of the elevator. Kyrie bites his lip as the doors slide shut again, mind a mess of thoughts. He ought to be mad about Lebron laying that kind of subtle claim on him like that, especially in front of Kevin, but for some reason he can’t quite muster up the indignation.

Kyrie’s legs almost move on autopilot when they finally reach their floor. Kevin’s room is closer to the elevator than Kyrie’s, and they both come to a stop in front of his door.

“Night, Kev,” Kyrie says, still somewhat absentmindedly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He makes to keep on walking to his own room, but before he can even take two steps he feels Kevin grabbing his wrist from behind.

“Wait, Ky,” Kevin says. His voice comes out low and gravelly after not speaking for so long, and he turns Kyrie back around to face him. His long fingers easily span the width of Kyrie’s wrist.

“What were you and Lebron doing in the hallway earlier?” Kevin asks.

Kyrie startles at the question. “Ummmm,” he says, brow furrowing. “Uh, why do you ask?”

Something flashes through Kevin’s eyes, but it’s gone too fast for Kyrie to identify what it is. “I… just thought that you might want to talk about it,” Kevin says after a moment.

Kyrie studies him. He can tell Kevin isn’t being 100% truthful with him, but he doesn’t say anything for the time being and considers his words.

It’s true that Kyrie is the type of person who likes to talk his problems out with his friends. Normally, he would go to Stephen about something like this, but Kevin _is_ also one of his closest friends.

The only complicating factors here are the fact that they are friends with benefits, as well as Kyrie’s very inconvenient but not insignificant feelings for Kevin.

_But that’s just one-sided anyways,_ a voice inside Kyrie’s head says to him. _Kevin doesn’t think of you like that, so what’s wrong with talking to him about Lebron? He probably won’t even care. Or maybe he’ll even give some good advice, who knows._

Something about this line of thinking feels off to Kyrie, but he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. He looks up at Kevin again before he can dwell on it for too long, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Sure, let’s talk inside,” he says.

Kevin looks like he wants to say something more, but just nods after a second. He swipes his room card against the keypad, propping the door open for Kyrie so they can both go in.

The inside of Kevin’s room is not that interesting, the layout identical to Kyrie’s own except for the bathroom being on the opposite side. There are clothes and other belongings strewn around the space, and Kyrie collapses onto Kevin’s bed, making himself comfortable. Kevin takes a seat next to him just as gracelessly, leaning back onto his hands.

“So,” Kevin wastes no time and says. “What was goin’ on?”

Kyrie stretches his arms out above his head somewhat uneasily. It feels… _weird_ to talk about this with Kevin of all people, but he shakes the feeling off.

“Ahh, it’s just,” Kyrie starts. he pauses, hesitating briefly, and then blurts out quickly in one breath: “Lebron wanted to get back together.”

He can’t help but steal a glance at Kevin, who is already looking at him. Kevin has no discernible outward reaction other than a small intake of breath, and he continues watching Kyrie, as if imploring him to keep talking.

Kyrie turns his eyes up to the ceiling, not stopping the troubled expression from taking over his face. He lets the words flow out freely this time. “I just don’t really know what to do. It’s so easy to get swept up in his pace sometimes, you know. I mean, my brain is telling me that this is a bad idea, and I shouldn’t say yes. But the things he was saying…”

His mind inadvertently flashes back to the way Lebron had talked to him, looked at him, touched him back in that corridor. He had been so gentle and painstaking, like Kyrie is something unmistakably precious and worthy of his carefulness.

Kyrie remembers the feeling of Lebron’s large hands on his hips, body a massive, solid presence in front of him. Both a barrier caging him in and a shield protecting him at the same time.

And most prominently, he remembers how good it had all felt… and how fucking badly he had wanted Lebron to kiss him in that moment.

“I thought I was over him a long time ago, but…” Kyrie muses, more talking to himself than anything at this point. He feels like he’s having an epiphany, a startling realization rearing its head with each additional word he utters.

“I think…” he blinks, “I think a part of me might still be in love with h— _mmph!_ ”

Kevin suddenly kisses him, cutting him off.

It’s a forceful kiss, too, Kyrie’s eyes widening in surprise as his hands land on Kevin’s shoulders on reflex. The tail-end of his sentence gets stuck in his throat as Kevin’s lips press against his.

Kevin pulls away after a moment, and Kyrie looks up at him in bewilderment.

“It sounds like you have a lot on your mind,” Kevin says, not waiting for Kyrie’s reaction before moving down to the column of Kyrie’s throat. “I’ve got the perfect way to distract you.”

“Kev, what— _ah!_ _”_ Kyrie whimpers when Kevin sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. He’s still reeling from the suddenness of it all, disoriented by Kevin’s abrupt actions.

Kevin kisses him again, more aggressively this time, sticking his tongue into Kyrie’s mouth and stealing all the breath from his lungs. Kyrie melts into the warm pleasure of it momentarily, before he remembers the current situation and pushes at Kevin’s shoulders, who pulls back reluctantly.

“W-what are you doing, K?” Kyrie stammers, panting shallowly.

Kevin looks down at him, face indecipherable. “Do you not want this?” He asks, trying to sound unaffected, but a bit of dejection and something else leaks through in his voice. His breath is warm and delicate against the skin of Kyrie’s neck.

Kyrie bites his lip, conflicted. He stares at the side of Kevin’s face, who doesn’t look at him as he waits for a response.

After a moment, he wraps his arms around Kevin’s neck, almost hesitantly. “No…no, I want this,” Kyrie murmurs. He dips his chin slowly so their lips can meet again. 

Following that, there’s a strange undercurrent to the whole thing, even as they strip their clothes off together and Kevin grabs a condom from the nightstand. Usually, sex with Kevin is pleasurable, but impersonal— almost transactional in nature. 

But right now… Kevin is uncharacteristically gentle as he fingers Kyrie open, even though Kyrie is still kind of loose from the earlier today in the locker room.

“Mmh,” Kyrie breathes as Kevin’s fingers press against his walls. “Y-you can come in already.”

Kevin pauses his ministrations, brow furrowing. “Are you sure?” He asks, sounding concerned.

Kyrie really boggles at that, looking up at Kevin weirdly. “Kev, why are you suddenly acting so strange?”

He watches as some unidentifiable emotion flickers over Kevin’s face at the words. Instead of replying, Kevin reaches down to retrieve the condom and rip the packaging open, quickly rolling it onto his cock. He doesn’t ask again before pressing his erection against Kyrie’s entrance, pushing in with one smooth movement.

He is neither particularly gentle nor rough as he begins fucking Kyrie, hips snapping forward deliberately. Kyrie moans, clutching at Kevin’s back, legs spreading wider of their own accord. The only unusual thing about it is their position; in the entire time they’ve had this arrangement, Kyrie can count on one hand the number of times that they have had sex in missionary.

He’s quickly distracted, however, by the way that Kevin begins repeatedly slamming into his prostate. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over him, and Kyrie cries out loudly. The entire bed is shaking now with each of Kevin’s thrusts, headboard clanging against the wall and no doubt a disturbance to their neighbors.

“Oh my God, yes, yes, right there,” Kyrie gasps, and Kevin’s hand tightens around his ankle where it’s pushing his leg back. “Shit, _ahh_ , K, please!”  
  


Kevin bites Kyrie’s collarbone. “Please what?” He asks, voice raspy.

Kyrie squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed by how intensely good everything feels. “Please fuck me harder,” he moans shamelessly.

“Fuck _,_ Ky,” Kevin grits out, sounding like he’s talking through clenched teeth. “Always so fucking good. Always.”

They set a fast and frenzied pace like that, and it makes all that much of a difference when Kevin is actually _trying_ to hit Kyrie’s spot and pleasure him. The moans and whines that leave his throat only seem to make Kevin more excited as he rams into him. Kevin doesn’t even seem to realize that his movements are increasing in strength.

Kyrie whimpers again at a thrust that is at just the right angle and depth. His eyes roll back in his head as he clenches down around Kevin, who swears.

“Shit,” Kevin grunts, hips speeding up and stuttering. “I’m gonna come.”

“Me, ah, me too,” Kyrie hiccups, tightening his arms around Kevin’s neck. “Come on,” he continues saying, even though he knows very well at the back of his mind that they’re using a condom. “Fill me up till I’m dripping with it, big guy.”

Kevin makes a sharp, almost pained noise, before he slams into Kyrie one more time and then comes, cock twitching against Kyrie’s prostate as the condom rapidly fills up with his seed.

The sensation is too much for Kyrie to handle and he also orgasms a second later, cum splattering against both of their torsos between them.

They stay in that position for a few moments, Kevin hovering above him, both breathing heavily. Kyrie lies there, a little stunned at how oddly good and intense the sex had been.

Kevin pulls away, Kyrie’s skin breaking out into goosebumps where the cold air suddenly hits him. He winces at the feeling of Kevin pulling out of him, and he looks up, hoping to catch Kevin’s eye.

But Kevin doesn’t look at him, even as he takes off and ties up the used condom, movements quick and methodical. He gets off the bed and stands up, walking towards the bathroom without a single glance or word in Kyrie’s direction.

He doesn’t ask if Kyrie is okay, or if he needs anything. He doesn’t even say “Nice” like last time, as insensitive as that may have been. It was still better than nothing.

Kyrie watches Kevin disappear into the washroom, his figure cold and silent. Kyrie’s jaw clenches, knuckles whitening as he grips the sheets underneath him tightly.

But Kevin had been so nice, so gentle earlier……. Tears prickle inside Kyrie’s eyes against his will and he bites his lip, forcing them back down. No, he won’t cry, he’s better than that.

He lays back down, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders like they might protect him somehow. He turns so that his back is facing the bathroom, not wanting to see Kevin whenever he decides to come outside again.

Kyrie breathes in deeply, trying to distract himself from his own pathetic state. He’s biting the inside of his lip so hard that it feels like he might break skin at any moment.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, he finally hears the door to the bathroom open again. Steam billows out and evaporates into the air slowly. The sound of Kevin’s footsteps approaching the bed are loud in the otherwise silence.

The mattress behind Kyrie dips as Kevin climbs onto the bed, and Kyrie shuts his eyes tighter, pretending to be asleep. He really can’t deal with any more of Kevin’s emotionally-stunted bullshit today.

But then Kevin does something unexpected.

The sheets rustle as he also slides beneath them. He must think that Kyrie is asleep, because he shifts closer, bare chest pressing against Kyrie’s back and arm wrapping tentatively around his waist. His skin is still hot from the shower, and he buries his face in the crook of Kyrie’s neck.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Kevin says, voice so low that it’s almost a whisper. His lips brush lightly against Kyrie’s skin as he speaks, and his tone is unbearably pleading, earnest. “Pay attention to me…”

It’s a confession not meant to be heard. Kyrie is utterly frozen in place, breath hitching in his throat.

Did he really just…….? There’s no question who the ‘he’ Kevin is referring to is, and Kyrie’s entire body grows hot.

After a couple minutes, Kevin’s breathing behind him evens out, signaling that he’s fallen asleep. But Kyrie remains wide awake, heart thundering inside his chest and the conflict only deepening inside his mind with every passing second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh i had that last scene stuck in my mind for so long
> 
> tell me what you're thinking so far! i appreciate the comments as always :)


	3. Chapter 3

The universe has it out for him.

There’s really no other explanation for it. Kyrie looks wistfully up at the arena ceiling, mindless of the bright lights overhead, and laments what he did in a past life to deserve this shit.

This shit— meaning how he is standing here right now in the middle of the gym, Lebron and Kevin on either side of him, approximately a million cameras filming their every breath.

Kyrie shifts uncomfortably. There’s bound to be a new viral video on Twitter by lunchtime about how the three of them are harboring some secret beef or something.

But speaking of beef; Lebron and Kevin aren’t exactly making it difficult for people to come to that particular conclusion with the way they’re both standing with their chests puffed out and shoulders squared, glowering faintly. That’s posturing if Kyrie’s ever seen it.

The others in the area give the three of them a wide berth as a result, wisely avoiding the two scowling alphas. Stephen shoots Kyrie a vaguely sympathetic look from the other side of the gym, and Kyrie shakes his head back.

And before you ask— no. Kyrie is not standing in this position voluntarily.

It all goes back to earlier this morning, when all the players had been unceremoniously informed that they would all be moving around in groups of three starting today. Both as a form of fan service (which fans are they servicing, exactly, with this??) and to make the organization and scheduling of media events easier— were the reasons given.

Basically code for ‘whoring you guys out to the media as drama fodder and clickbait.’ This is how you know when the NBA really needs money.

Besides, even beyond that very questionable logic, Kyrie has to wonder— groups of _three?_ That’s a pretty ridiculous number. Why wouldn’t they go for a nice, even number instead? Three is the devil’s integer if you ask him. And all that is putting aside the fact that they’re professional athletes, not a bunch of middle schoolers on a field trip.

The event organizers had claimed that the groups were randomly chosen, but Kyrie very much fucking doubts that, the very evidence of this being that he is stuck with Lebron James and Kevin Durant. He had been baffled when the groupings were being read out from a list earlier, even more so when he looked around and saw that Lebron and Kevin actually seemed quite satisfied with their arrangement.

It had taken Kyrie a second before he realized that it is probably because this way, they both have a convenient reason and method to keep an eye on each other around Kyrie.

And all of that brings them to now. This very moment.

The three of them, stuck together for the foreseeable future. It’s a one-week event in total, so they don’t get to change groups until halfway through.

Kyrie sighs heavily at the thought of another 48+ hours of this. Especially since it’s not only awkward between him and Lebron now, but also him and Kevin, albeit more one-sidedly on Kyrie’s camp.

“Ky, are you okay?” Lebron suddenly asks, breaking the silence hanging over them, which finally startles Kyrie out of his own head.

“Huh?” He looks up at Lebron, and realizes he is referring to Kyrie’s sigh. “Oh, no, yeah,” Kyrie replies, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Lebron asks again, steppingcloser.

Kyrie blinks at his odd persistence, but just nods his head again. “Yeah, of course,” he repeats, “I’m alright.”

Lebron leans forward a little. “Really, ‘cause you seem kind of tired—”

“He said he was fine, didn’t he?” Kevin interrupts loudly, and Kyrie turns his head to find him glaring irritably at Lebron.

_Uh oh._

Lebron turns to face Kevin, narrowing his eyes back. “Is there something wrong with being concerned about his well-being?” He asks, an air of animosity between them growing abruptly.

Kevin scoffs. “More like not respecting his boundaries of what he wants and doesn’t want to talk about,” he replies. “You always gotta push, man, don’t you?”

Kyrie bites the inside of his cheek, alarmed at the two alphas’ rapid back-and-forth. He holds his hands up, “Uh, guys, this really isn’t that big of a de—”

“And what? I’m just supposed to wait around twiddling my thumbs while I could be doing something to help him feel better?” Lebron retorts, frown deepening. “That might work for you, Kevin, but that isn’t exactly my approach.”

“Your ‘approach’,” Kevin echoes mockingly. “Well, your approach has gotten your ass dumped once already, so how’s that working out for you?”

Kyrie sees Lebron rear back, offended. Oh, no. Oh, no, no. “Guys, seriously,” Kyrie tries again, louder this time. “Stop arguing, we’re in the middle of—”

“I still treated him better than you ever could, let’s make that much clear,” Lebron growls, cutting Kyrie off like he doesn’t even hear him.

Kevin steps closer to Lebron to get more into his face. “Stop kidding yourself, man,” he says condescendingly. “I actually _listen_ when he talks, not just wait for my turn to speak like you.”

Lebron scowls, not backing down in the slightest. “You’re delusional,” he replies, “lecturing _me_ on the right way to treat him when y’all have never even been together.”

Kevin freezes almost imperceptibly for a second, before he recovers. “We don’t need to have been together for me to know what he deserves,” Kevin says, tilting his head to sneer down at Lebron. “And that’s better than _you_ , douchebag.”

Lebron bares his teeth in a snarl at that. He moves forward, until his and Kevin’s chests are almost brushing with each breath that they take. They’re also staring intensely into each other eyes, expressions serious.

The whole thing paints, well— a _certain_ kind of picture. Kyrie finds a part of his mind veering off in a very…interesting direction as he stares at the two of them. However, irritation and embarrassment are still the dominant emotions rearing up at the forefront of his brain.

“The last time I checked,” Lebron grits out, “You aren’t his goddamn keeper.”

Kyrie’s brow furrows, frowning at the trajectory the argument has taken. He feels irked by the way they’re talking about him— as if either of them have any actual authority over what Kyrie decides to do with his life.

Neither Kevin nor Lebron have even said his _name_ this entire time. Not to mention that the way they’re snapping at each other is so fucking childish and immature, already drawing curious looks from others nearby. 

Kevin opens his mouth to reply, but Kyrie cuts him off.

“And neither are _you_ ,” Kyrie says to Lebron’s statement sharply. He makes sure to raise his volume. The annoyance he’s feeling makes itself known in his voice, and Lebron and Kevin finally turn their attention to him.

They both blink down at him, looking like they had forgotten Kyrie was even there until now. Kyrie feels irritation rise swiftly in his chest.

“You two need to stop talking about me like I’m not _right here_ ,” Kyrie continues, glaring at them. “I don’t know what makes either of you think you have the right to argue about what I do or don’t deserve, or who I should or shouldn’t be with in the first place. You know I’m actually capable of making my own decisions, right? You’re both being ridiculous, especially since we’re _on camera_ at the moment _,_ in case you forgot. Now both of you, stop acting like little kids fighting over a toy on the playground and shut the hell up.”

He finishes with a huff, narrowing his eyes at them before turning his head pointedly away. Lebron and Kevin are both completely still, and Kyrie doesn’t even have to look at them to know their matching gobsmacked expressions.

They stay like that for a good couple moments. Kyrie stands there, arms crossed and glowering at nothing in particular. Kevin and Lebron are half a step behind him, both quiet after Kyrie’s mini-rant.

The silence stretches out between them, Kyrie still faintly fuming, while Lebron and Kevin— actually, fuck that. He doesn’t care about how they feel, Kyrie thinks angrily.

“Kyrie!” An employee calls his name in the distance, “You’re up next for individual interviews.”

“Coming!” He says back. He almost turns to look back at Kevin and Lebron one more time before he leaves, but stops himself at the last second. Instead, he stuffs his hands into his pockets as he walks away, not sparing either of them a glance.

He feels both of their gazes burning into his back as he gets further away. He snorts underneath his breath, feeling equal parts still excessively annoyed and satisfied with himself, as he exits the gym and enters the interview area.

Unbeknownst to Kyrie, behind him, Kevin and Lebron’s eyes don’t leave his retreating figure for a single moment; they continue staring in the same direction even after he disappears from sight.

The air between them, previously one of bitter competition and rivalry, turns almost into one of grudging understanding, as it becomes clear that both of them are thinking the same thing.

Lebron blows out a long breath. “Shit,” he says. Neither of them look at each other. “I always love it when he gets like that.”

Kevin makes a vague noise of agreement. “Fuckin’ sexy as hell when he gets feisty,” he comments.

They lapse back into a brief silence again, both lost in their own thoughts. Kevin shifts after a moment.

“He… _did_ seem pretty genuinely mad, though,” he says, sounding a bit guilty.

Lebron crosses his arms. “Yeah, ‘cause you kept pissing him off,” he replies.

“Man, what?” Kevin turns to look at Lebron incredulously this time, “you’re trippin’ if you think you didn’t contribute to that shit.”

Lebron bristles, also turning his body a little. “If I remember correctly, _you’re_ the one who started the argument in the first place.”

Kevin scoffs. “Only because you were being an intrusive prick—” He starts, before cutting himself off and shaking his head. “No, no, you know what? I ain’t arguing any more with you today.”

“Oh no, I’m so sad,” Lebron says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, man. Works for me if I don’t have to deal with your whiny ass anymore.”

Kevin narrows his eyes at that, Lebron making a face back. They have a ridiculous stare-off for a couple seconds before they both turn away at the same time, huffing in annoyance.

  
Like this, they really do look like two elementary-school kids who got in trouble and are being forced to stand in time-out together. It’s just that this time Kyrie’s not here to inform them of that very amusing fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk what u think!

**Author's Note:**

> whew! pls let me know in the comments if you enjoyed it, or just to talk about any thoughts in general! :)
> 
> also i have the whole thing pretty much written, i'll probably stick to updating every 2 days or so


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